


The Spitting Image

by Lillio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillio/pseuds/Lillio
Summary: After Jim dies, Sebastian's life spirals out of control. Richard Brook, Jim's twin brother, suffers the loss better, but equally alone. At the rate Sebastian is going, he will soon become beyond saving, but he has no interest in letting anyone in other than Jim. Richard can't bring back the dead, but he happens to bear a striking resemblance to the man in question, and has a talent for acting. Maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.





	

It had been two years since the day he’d watched Jim blow his brains out through the scope of his rifle. He could still see the crimson just as vividly as that first sleepless night he’d spent on the floor of their bathroom. When he wasn’t vomiting up the liquor, he’d listened for the sound of the door opening and Jim’s soft footsteps. He’d half expected him to walk in and smack him upside the head for being an awful drunk. But he never came. And as the months passed, the media forgot about the fake detective and his fake villain. 

At least Sherlock’s doctor had a grave to visit. Jim had to be taken away in secret, his limbs lolling listlessly underneath him as they carried his body off the rooftop. After a few gallons of bleach, every speck of him was gone from that rooftop. Whatever Jim had told the men to do with his corpse from there, Sebastian didn’t see. Nor was he of the state of mind to make any inquiries at the time. It seemed like everyone but him had been aware of the backup plan. 

Sebastian sat in the kitchen of the flat, his feet kicked up onto the table and a cigarette dangling from his lips haphazardly. He tapped the ash onto the ground, puffing a breath of smoke out in front of him. Jim would’ve hated every bit of what he’d become. But Jim had fucked him and he might as well fuck him back. Sebastian rubbed the ash of the dying fag into the surface of the expensive mahogany table. The resulting scorch mark was black and wretched looking amidst a polka-dotted array of similar marks. He tossed the butt away unceremoniously. 

He wasn’t drunk yet, and he had been just about to go rectify that, when there was a knock at the door. Sebastian never had visitors. Nine months ago, he might have dared to hope for Jim’s return, but now he could hardly be arsed to get up and open the door. When he unlocked it, the face staring back at him nearly stopped his heart. There they were-- those big dark eyes that had haunted his dreams for so long. But it wasn’t the same. His dark hair was tangled about his head in a shaggy mess, and his T-shirt was loose and half-tucked into his cargo pants. Jim wouldn’t have stood for such a horrific fashion crime. 

“Richard.” He said, and the man nodded, smiling sheepishly. 

“Sebastian. You look…well… Can I come in?” he asked, digging his hands into the large pockets of his pants.

Sebastian gave a stiff nod, and shuffled back from the door to admit him entrance. He hadn’t seen Jim’s twin in ages. Not since they’d used him to cover up the whole Sherlock fiasco. Richard had been just as shaken by Jim’s death, but Sebastian wasn’t the type for mourning in company and Rich had long since stopped calling.  
Richard sat himself down on the couch at Sebastian’s instruction, and it was apparent that he was trying not to crinkle his nose at the smell of stale cigarette smoke that had permeated the room. Sebastian didn’t notice it anymore, but he opened up a window all the same. 

“Well?” Sebastian asked, his biceps crossed over his chest. 

“It’s been awhile.” Richard tried, smiling unconvincingly.  
Sebastian only continued to watch him blankly.

“It’s ah—I guess I wanted to check in on you, honestly. I wasn’t even sure if you still lived here. No one’s heard from you in a while. It’s like you’ve dropped off the grid completely.” Richard explained, floundering under Sebastian’s impenetrable stare. 

“I’m fine.” Sebastian said with no inflection, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. Richard made a face.

“You clearly aren’t. I know you miss him, God knows I do too, but look at this place.” He said, standing up abruptly. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m as fine as I’m going to get.” Sebastian amended after a moment. “And it’s none of your damn business. You can go tell anyone that wants to know that I’ve still yet to put a bullet through my head. Fuck off.” He said, lighting up the cigarette and taking a long drag.

Richard bristled. “Look, Sebastian. I’m not trying to be a good Samaritan. You’re a goddamn mess. I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me help. Just tell me how I can help.” he insisted, drawing closer.

“The only person that could help me has a fucking bullet lodged in his decomposing skull.” Sebastian snapped, “Leave.”  
But Richard did not leave. Something in his eyes shifted just minutely, and he stalked closer. “No.” said Jim’s voice, just as low and sweet and lilting as Sebastian remembered it. The cigarette tumbled from his fingers.

He was Richard, but everything about his posture was Jim, the way he held his shoulders, that unreadable darkness in his eyes. Sebastian just gaped.  
Richard stepped forward to crush the cigarette under his toe, closing the gap between them in the process. And then Sebastian’s hands were on his waist, and Richard was leaning up to kiss him. But almost as soon as their lips touched, Richard—or maybe Jim—drew away. His face was contorted in revulsion. 

“You taste like shit. Get a goddamn breath mint, you idiot.” He said, spitting distastefully at Sebastian’s bare feet. Sebastian’s face cracked open in a grin. God, he had missed this.

Jim refused to sit on his couch, and he’d backhanded him directly across the face when he saw the state of his mahogany table. He had to admit he probably did deserve it though.  
Jim took a hold of his hand and dragged him up to the bathroom, demanding that he brush his teeth if he was to have anything to do with him. Just as soon as he’d spat out the last mouthful of minty water, Jim’s hands were on him, tearing his shirt off and manhandling him into the shower, his lips against his throat, and his teeth sharp against the jut of his collarbone. 

Jim’s skin was exactly as he remembered it, smooth and silky under his fingertips. He kissed longer and sweeter than he was accustomed to, but his eyes were the same, his lashes long enough to tickle his cheeks at close proximity. He was noticeably different, though. He gasped, turning his face against the mattress, where old Jim would have laughed and dug his nails into his back. He moaned his name where Jim would have screamed it, and once they were done, he laid his head on his chest and intertwined their legs, where Jim would have rolled away from him with all of the covers in tow. But Sebastian slept better than he had in a long time, and when he woke up, there was actual food cooking on the stove.

“Rich?” Sebastian called, leaning up against the door frame clad in nothing but his boxers. The man at the stove turned instinctively towards his own name, and Sebastian had his answer. 

Richard blushed, glancing over him. “Sebastian… oh, God. Do you hate me?” he asked, his hands fluttering uncertainly.  
But Sebastian found, oddly enough, that he wasn’t mad, not nearly as mad as he should have been. The night before had been more of Jim than he’d ever thought he’d get to have again. 

“No, I’m not.” Richard looked visibly relieved, as if he’d expected to be hit. Sebastian wondered then, why he’d bothered to wait around until he woke up, much less make him breakfast. 

“That’s…good.” Richard said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Here, have something to eat. I made eggs.” He offered, setting a plate down at the scorch mark covered table. 

Sebastian said nothing while he ate, scarfing it down like a madman because he’d been surviving on primarily liquor and ramen for the past few months. He looked up at Richard, who was watching him eat intently. “Thank you.” he said, almost hesitantly. “For this. For last night.”

Richard smiled a little uncertainly, but nodded. “It’s not a problem. I actually uhm—enjoyed it, honestly. That’s weird, isn’t it? I mean—oh. Shit. It’s noon already. I should go.”

“Probably. But…if you want to do that again sometime, I wouldn’t be opposed.” Richard blushed fiercely, but nodded again after a moment.

“Yes, I—yeah. Yeah. Text me. Bye, Sebastian. And for god’s sake, try and take care of yourself until I come back.”  


Sebastian grinned, plucking a cigarette from a box on the table. “No promises.”


End file.
